


The Five Times Iker Should've Told Sergio He Loved Him and the One Time He Did

by allisonsargent



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 'I REALLY FUCKING LOVE YOU BUT I DON'T KNOW WHEN TO TELL YOU', F/F, Five Times, LOTS OF SERIKER, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Seriker - Freeform, also cris is the ONLY person who can hit iker in the shoulder and get away with it, awkward iker is awkward, cris is a smartass, sergio is bubbly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonsargent/pseuds/allisonsargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go back to sleep, nene," reassured Iker in a sweet honey tone, not actually answering Sergio's question, but instead dismissing it, "You're tired.."</p><p>But then Sergio let out this laugh, this beautiful, melodic sound, and Iker swear that his insides melted instantly, "Iker, I think I would know if I was tired or not, don't you think?" Sergio questioned, raising his eyebrow as if it furthered his inquiry, "Plus, I've slept plenty! I'm not tired. Let's go do something.."</p><p>Iker nestled closer to Sergio, raking his hands through Sergio's soft hair, messing it up even more than it had already been, "But nene, it's almost midnight.. I'm tired."</p><p>"Yeah, but," Sergio pecked the corner of Iker's lips sweetly, "I'm not. And, if I go anywhere, you're coming with me. That's how dating works, capitan."</p><p>Iker sat up, shaking his head at Sergio's statement, "Hmm, no, I don't think that's right, Sergio."</p><p>Sergio considered Iker's words for a moment, before shaking his head in agreement, "No, you're right," Sergio grinned, "That's how it works when you're dating me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Times Iker Should've Told Sergio He Loved Him and the One Time He Did

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! MY THIRD SERIKER ONE-SHOT! I'VE ONLY WRITTEN A 'FIVE TIME' FIC ONCE BEFORE, SO I HOPE I DIDN'T SCREW THIS UP TOO MUCH ((even if this is TECHNICALLY a 'six times' but oh well!!)) I would like to thank thiagoandlia on tumblr ((aka, Florgi)) for helping me with some ideas for this fic, because hONESTLY two of the scenes in this fic were based on some ideas she gave me, and the last scene was influenced by one of the ideas that she had given me, so GRACIAS POR TODO FLORGI! ALSO: THIS FIC WAS HEAVILY INFLUENCED BY TAYLOR SWIFT'S ((queen... queen...)) 'YOU ARE IN LOVE' SO I'D SUGGEST YOU LISTEN TO IT WHILE YOU READ THIS, YOU MIGHT CATCH SOME LINES THAT I PUT INTO THE FIC. ANYWAY. I hope you all like this, and remember that kudos/comments are ALWAYS appreciated. I take requests at nikeneymar.tumblr.com/ask so if you want a certain one-shot to be written, I'll write it, so send me requests. Okay.. I'll stop now. CONTINUE ON :D

_**i.** _

“Thanks, Cris! Hasta luego!” Iker called out in pure gratitude, as he waddled out of Cristiano’s house and into the oddly nippy air.

Iker currently had a certain Spanish defender attached to his hip, the goalie being the sole supply of balance and stability for the stumbling Sergio, who may or may not have had a few too many glasses of sangria.

“Iker..?” Sergio murmured the goalie’s name weakly, as his wide brown eyes focused on the man beside him, who was holding Sergio upright and escorting him to the car.

“Hi, baby…” Iker had replied quietly, as he — and Sergio — reached the car. Iker helped his boyfriend into the passenger side of the car, buckling him in as if he was a baby, ignoring Sergio’s incoherent protests that he was, in fact, ‘not that drunk’ and that ‘he can buckle himself in’.

With the throatiest of chuckles, Iker just shook his head, before shutting Sese’s door, and climbing into his own side of the car.

Iker hummed to himself as he inserted the keys — the keychain was courtesy of Sergio, who had practically demanded that Iker buy a keychain when they visited Brazil — into the ignition, listening as the car’s engine roared to life.

Iker drove out of Cristiano’s driveway, and out onto the road. The street was fairly empty, but Iker could understand why; it was past midnight, and also, this was a private neighborhood, so you didn’t see cars driving aimlessly down Cris’ street.

As Iker drove on, the caliginous rain clouds that loomed above Spain in the sky high above rolled down the sky, as if they were following Iker’s car.

Cris’ neighborhood eventually was way behind Iker, but the clouds? No, the clouds continued their pursuit in the ink stained sky above.

“The rain clouds..” commented Sergio rather randomly, as the defender leaned his head against the passenger side window, peering at the clouds high above.

“What about them, Sese?”

It was quiet for a few seconds, and the only sounds in the car were Iker and Sergio’s synchronized heartbeats, but also the clicking of the signal lights each time Iker made a turn.

Sergio chooses his words carefully for a few seconds, but instead, he structures his sentence with the most basic of words, “They remind me of you, Iker.”

“Thanks, Sese.” Iker sighed, deep down knowing that yes, Sergio’s sentences were usually incoherent and inconsistent after he had a few sangrias. Iker also knew that he should totally disregard anything that passes Sergio lips when he was drunk, or even semi-drunk.

“No!” cried Sergio, as he practically shot up in his seat, “That’s not a bad thing.. You’re not a bad thing.. Clouds.. They don’t always carry sorrow and rain, y’know? Sometimes, they float into the sky and carry color.. They add color to the boring skies.. That’s you, Iker. You add color.. Even if you’re grumpy sometimes.. Really grumpy…” Sergio rambled unintelligibly, another trait that came out when he was a little tipsy — but thinking about it, Sese actually made some sense.

Iker pulled the car into their shared driveway, pulling the keys out of the ignition, the car’s roar slowly fading. Iker slowly turns his gaze from the calm road, to the breathtaking sight that was sitting beside him.

When Iker’s bright brown eyes meet Sergio’s, time stops, and surely, Iker feels it. Those beautiful brown eyes stare back at Iker, and the Spaniard goalie can swear that in that moment in time, even in Sergio’s semi-drunken state, the defender could sense Iker’s real self; the one who didn’t have an ever present attitude, the Iker who let his guards down every now and then, and the Iker that was learning how to love.

“I love you..” whispers Iker almost inaudibly, but this time, Sergio doesn’t quite hear it. Iker has the satisfaction deep in his heart that he confessed it; that he was in love with Sergio.

He wasn’t sure when he’d be ready to announce it to the world, however. Or when he’d finally gather up the courage to say those three words to Sergio and they’ll mean the world. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to let go, break a piece of his heart, and humbly give it to Sergio for him to keep.

He’d be ready. He just wasn’t sure when.

_**ii.** _

Iker, due to popular opinion, was actually a real man, and surprisingly enough, not a robot. So, like any other normal man has, Iker has dreams.

Some men dream of their own fantasies, of things that they wish they had, but didn’t; money, women, good food, new cars, and sex. But, Iker? No, Iker doesn’t dream of any of that; he dreams of Sergio.

He sees Sergio in his dreams. Radiant, lovely Sergio, with his deep tanned skin that could be compared to the finest spices from Morocco. Sergio, with that ever-present smile that only a true optimist like Sergio could display; it was a beautiful smile, the kind of smile that encouraged you to be happy. Sergio was in his dreams with his adorable Andalusian accent, his seemingly undying love for flamenco, and his cute puffy lips that Iker loved so much — those lips that, per say, were usually put to very good use.

Every night, when Iker lays down next to Sergio, he wraps his arms around Sergio’s waist, and pulls the defender’s body close to his own. Iker nuzzles his head into Sergio’s neck, savoring the breathy laughs that pass Sergio lips. He doesn’t let go of Sergio through the night; Iker has this absurd idea that if he lets go, Sergio’ll leave him, and Iker will be miserable and lifeless, like he always is without Sergio by his side.

And for once, one night, he lets go, letting his childish fear of Sergio forsaking him drift away into oblivion, and as Iker himself drifted into the world of slumber.

Dreams didn’t come easy that night. They were uneventful and lifeless, which was a vast contrast to most nights, where lively Sergio graced his dreams with smiles and kisses.

That night, the Spaniard woke with a sudden lurch, the cool, lustrous fibers of the silk sheets clinging to Iker’s sweaty skin. His breathing calmed down slowly, and Iker laid his back up against the bed’s headboard. He lay there, still and practically motionless, as his heartbeat slowly slipped back into its synchronized one-two beat.

Iker glanced over at Sergio, his insides practically melting in pure and utter adoration at the sight of Sergio sleeping; his limbs tangled up in the sheets, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, his arms spread out against the pillow, and the absentminded flutter of his eyes..

Iker had seen this particular sight an innumerable amount of times, but as the pale Madrid moonlight glistened down on Sergio’s skin, Iker no longer saw his lover sleeping, he saw a sight of pure beauty.

Iker leaned forward, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Sese’s cheek, watching as Sergio’s eyes flittered open, and a small but sleepy smile spread across the Andalusian’s face. “Iker? Are you okay?”

“I…” Iker suddenly rendered speechless as his mind became fogged, and his train of thought stopped. A strange look appears on Iker’s face, the Spaniard pausing slowly to collect his words, “You’re my.. You’re my best friend.”

Four simple words, but Sergio understood that there was much more behind those four words that what initially would be thought. “You’re my best friend too, Iker..”

And at that moment, Iker’s heart swelled up enormously under his skin. He sort of pulled Sese close, pressing a kiss to the defender’s hairline. Iker inhaled the sweet scent of Sergio — which was oddly enough, sangria and lemon soap — deciding that yeah, Iker wasn’t ever letting Sergio go.

Ever.

_**iii.** _

Out of the seven mornings each week, Iker could always be sure that Sunday mornings were his absolute favorite mornings.

They varied each week, but when Iker thought about it, they always started off and ended the same way. And honestly, Iker didn’t really mind much. Most days with Sergio were absolutely crazy — in the best of ways, of course — so having one day of peace and solidarity was a good thing for Iker, and a good thing for the two Spaniards altogether.

One exasperatingly beautiful Sunday morning, bright ripples of yellow sunlight penetrated through the light curtains Sergio had set up in the room. The blinding hot light beating down on Iker face mercilessly, causing the Spaniard to wake up from his dream state.

With a loud groan, Iker groggily rubbed his eyes, as his eyes adjusted to the particularly bright light that was continuously flooding the bedroom. “Por el amor de Dios…” sighed Iker, rolling out of bed with one arm shielding his face from the light, as he closed the curtains. As the curtains shut, the light was chased out of the room by the darkness, and suddenly, Iker could breathe again.

And with the sudden realization that he could now see perfectly, he also noticed two crucial things; one, that Sergio hadn’t been in bed with him when he woke, and two, why did he have no shirt on? Iker honest to God did remember putting a shirt on; he also remembered falling asleep next to Sergio.

Iker decided that he was now going to find his shirt, and his lover.

Iker wrapped his plush bath robe around his body, his slippers scuffling against the cherry wood steps. As he neared the kitchen, the sweet, lemony smell of muffins flooded his nose, and Iker smiled.

Sergio was stationed by the oven, ducking low as he peered inside the small window of the oven. He was humming one of his favorite flamenco songs, as usual, and had this beautiful smile on his face. A smile that shone even brighter than the sunlight that almost blinded Iker minutes ago.

And yeah, he was wearing Iker’s shirt. It was adorable, actually, but Iker didn’t mention it; only mentally screenshotted it, hoping that he’d remember this image for years to come.

“Sese!”

Sergio hopped away from the oven, his side bumping into the corner of the counter, “What — yes, hola?” Sergio clapped his hands, “Iker! You’re awake! Finally.”

“Finally? What time is it?”

“9:30..” replied Sergio with a grin, as he quickly turned back to the oven, shutting it off.

“You’re such an early bird,” Iker told Sergio with a dramatic roll of the eyes, as he walked over to give his boyfriend a good morning hug, “9:30 is way too early.”

“Whatever you say, capitan.” Sergio responded, wrapping his arms around Iker’s waist greedily, pulling him in for a hug.

Iker laid his head above Sergio’s, inhaling sharply, “You smell of lemon and sugar?”

“Because,” Sergio placed a small kiss to the crook of Iker’s neck, making the goalie shiver, “I made you those lemon muffins you like so much!”

Iker’s lips broke out into a grin that was comparable to one of a small child, since it held the same optimism and enthusiasm as a grin of a little kid’s would. “Really? Nene, you’re the best, you’re the best!”

“I know… And guess what else I made you?”

“….Cola Cao?”

“Yes.”

“Dios… Sergio, you know me so well.”

Sergio broke the hug, taking Iker’s hand and tugging him over to the table that was placed in the center of the table. He pulled out a chair for Iker, “Sit.”

And Iker did.

Sergio scuttled away to the kitchen, and Iker watched in awe as the Andalusian took the muffins out form the oven — without burning his fingers, as Iker surely would’ve done — and brought them over to the table.

“Un momento,” said Sergio, as he grabbed two cups from off the counter, distinguishing which was his own, and which was Iker’s.

“Cola Cao for you, cafe con leche para mi,” smiled Sergio in satisfaction, as he grabbed a napkin and placed a muffin on it, passing it to Iker. “Here. I put that special sugar on it and everything. Just the way you like it.”

“Sese?” asked Iker, as he stared at Sergio, taking a bite of his muffin.

“Yes?”

“What would I ever do without you?”

Sergio pondered this question for a minute, “You’d fall off a cliff because you’d follow the directions on your GPS,” He laughed, “I’m kidding.. You’d go on with life, I guess. I’m not that special, really. I’m just —”

But oh, Sergio was special. He just didn’t acknowledge it, even if he should’ve. To Iker, he meant practically the world. They’d only been together as an official couple god a few short months, but there had always been this established bond between the two. You didn’t get Iker without Sergio, and you didn’t get Sergio without Iker. It was just how it went, and everyone had come to accept that.

Iker didn’t even listen to what Sergio had to say, he didn’t listen as Sergio rambled on and on about not being special. But to Iker, he was. Anyone who put up with Iker’s practically ever present grumpiness, nursed Iker back to health when he was sick, and memorized Iker’s favorite breakfast meal was surely a special person — to Iker, at least.

The Spaniard thought that this, surely, was the time to tell Sergio how much he meant to him. That he loved him.

But as Sergio quickly danced away to another topic, Iker watched the opportunity come and go.

Another time, he whispered to himself for the millionth time, another time.

_**iv.** _

“Good game,” praised Cristiano, as he slapped Iker on the back, grinning at his captain, “Another clean sheet, eh, Iker?”

The team had just gotten back from the Anfield stadium, after yet another victory. At this point in time, nothing but a victory had been expected from the boys in the pristine white kits; and nothing but victories had been produced. Iker, being the captain, was immensely proud of how good the team had worked tonight, but over everything, he was totally and utterly exhausted.

“Thanks, Cris. You too.” Iker offered the Portuguese a weak smile, as he swung his Adidas training bag over his shoulder and walked toward the bus exit, “Sleep well, okay, Cris?” Then Iker turned to his fellow players, waving in respect, “Buenas noches!”

“Buenas noches!” called a multitude of players as the captain exited the bus, stepping out into the crisp, England air. Some players had stayed on the bus, simply chatting about the game, and other random things. Iker would’ve stayed, but his exhaustion was blocking his passage way of thought.

He passed some members of the team on the way to his hotel room, the most memorable being Marcelo — already dressed in pajamas that were sky blue with yellow rubber ducks and soap bubbles scattered across the soft material — who waved at him enthusiastically, “Hola, capi!”. Apparently, he had forgotten his toothbrush in Cristiano’s bag, and decided that it’d be best to go get it. Why his toothbrush was in Cristiano’s bag was a question Iker couldn’t answer, and didn’t think to ask.

With a kiss on the cheek — in the friendliest of ways, of course, Marcelo was happily married and Iker was dating his best friend — he wished Marcelo a good night, and the two parted ways. The ride to the hotel room was quiet, since nobody else was occupying space in the elevator except for Iker.

When he reached the third floor — that had been reserved for the Madrid players — he shuffled his way down the small vestibule, until he reached his room. He inserted the key-card into its slot, watching as the door unlocked, and Iker entered the room.

Sergio was curled up into a ball on top of the comforter, as he held a pale gray pillow close to his stomach. Sergio’s eyes were closed tight, his whole body motionless, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed; against the navy blue sheets, Sergio looked like an angel, and to Iker, he was.

The Spaniard shut the door carefully, as a precaution to not wake Sergio, who had fought hard to defend the goal today; he was probably tired, and deserved just as must rest as Iker did.

He walked over to the bed, lying down beside Sergio. The bed dipped slightly as Iker’s weight had been placed on it, and it did creak slightly, but it didn’t wake Sergio. The goalie laid on his back, placing his hands neatly on top of his chest. He stared intently at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything in particular; thoughts rushed out of his mind just as fast as they had came in.

Now that he thought about it, he was tired, but he couldn’t exactly fall asleep; all could do was stare at the ceiling, and hope that it’d make him tired somehow. Maybe the faded blue paint of the walls would cause him to remember the light clouds that swirled up in the sky above Madrid; maybe he’d start to feel homesick, and he’d want to dream that he was back in his comfy bed in his small little apartment that he shared with Sergio.

But, sleep didn’t come that easily, and Iker knew it. God knows how long he was staring at the ceiling, but his gaze refocused to his side when he felt the body beside him move slightly.

"Can't sleep?" asked Sergio, his voice slightly raspy from sleep. He stirred, not fully awake, but not asleep either; the perfect boarder between consciousness and unconsciousness.

"Go back to sleep, _nene_ ," reassured Iker in a sweet honey tone, not actually answering Sergio's question, but instead dismissing it, "You're tired.."

But then Sergio let out this laugh, this beautiful, melodic sound, and Iker swear that his insides melted instantly, "Iker, I think I would know if I was tired or not, don't you think?" Sergio questioned, raising his eyebrow as if it furthered his inquiry, "Plus, I've slept plenty! I'm not tired. Let's go do something.."

Iker nestled closer to Sergio, raking his hands through Sergio's soft hair, messing it up even more than it had already been, "But nene, it's almost midnight.. I'm tired."

"Yeah, but," Sergio pecked the corner of Iker's lips sweetly, "I'm not. And, if I go anywhere, you're coming with me. That's how dating works, _capitan_."

Iker sat up, shaking his head at Sergio's statement, "Hmm, no, I don't think that's right, Sergio."

Sergio considered Iker's words for a moment, before shaking his head in agreement, "No, you're right," Sergio grinned, "That's how it works when you're dating _me_."

"Why do I put up with you, Sergio?"

"Because you love --" Sergio paused, averting his eyes from Iker's smiling face, as if he could erase what he was about to say, "Anyway. What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure... You were the one who wanted to go out!"

"We should go get something to eat, I'm hungry.." 

"Eat? Are things even open at these unholy hours?" laughs Iker, as he stands up from the bed, straightening out the comforter a bit, taking away some of the wrinkles that they two lying there had caused. He had accepted the fact that there was no way that he'd convince Sergio to let him stay at the hotel room and sleep, because when Sergio wanted something, he went and got it; so if Sergio wanted Iker to go out and have something to eat with him, Sergio Ramos would pester Iker Casillas until the point where Iker just _had_ to give up and go with him. It's just how their relationship went; however, Iker had resorted to _other_ ways of negation to get Sergio to get up and do things.  

"Yes, silly," Sergio rolled his eyes, as he slipped on his sneakers that had been left on the side of the bed, since he was currently still in the clothes he had changed into after he had showered, "Maybe.. A diner?"

"A diner!" smiles Iker, and he nodded his head like a little puppy, as he grabbed his jacket from off the door knob, "Let's go."

"See, now you're excited." laughs Sergio, as he took his own jacket, and headed towards the door where Sergio was standing, "C'mon, _capitan_ , I saw a diner when we were on our way to the hotel."

And the two left the hotel, side by side, in search of a diner to satisfy their hunger. The two were dressed in layers upon layers, because lets face it, winter in England was cold, and it couldn't compare to a winter in Spain. A winter in Spain was _manageable_ , to say the least. This? This was far too cold in Iker's opinion -- and there wasn't even snow yet, _dios mio_!

"I'm cold.." whispers Iker, as he moves closer to Sergio, knowing that he couldn't exactly hold his hand or anything intimate such as that, even if he wish he could. 

“I am too,” replies Sergio, as he very casually wrapped his arm around Iker's shoulders, pulling the Spaniard close to his own body. Iker's body radiated warmth, and even if Sergio knew Iker would ask him to let go for the sake of them being in public, he wanted to hold on, hold on this memories like this, “You're warm, Iker..”

“Sese..” Iker whispered Sergio's name quietly, his tone laced with warning.

“It's fine,” Sergio says, continuing to cling on to the goalkeeper, “We're just hugging. The media can't do anything but draw straws at things like this. We were best friends before boyfriends, if you happened to forget, we were always very touchy-feely.”

“True..” Sergio was right sometimes, and Iker felt that he didn't give the defender enough credit. He held on to Sergio then, his arms wrapping around Sergio's waist.

The two walked aimlessly through the town silently, neither of the two talking; but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was comfortable. They had reached a point in their relationship where they didn't even have to talk sometimes. All they needed was each other, and that was all that mattered.

Soon enough,they had walked to a point of pure and utter exhaustion, and Iker's patience -- and energy -- was dwindling with each step, “Sergio,” Iker drew out the syllables in his boyfriend's name lazily, “You said there was a diner close to the hotel..”

“There is..” Sergio responded, his tongue peeking out from his lips slightly as the Sevillian focused his eyes on a building in the distance, “Right there!”

Surely, Sergio had seen the look of pure confusion that had been displayed on Iker's face, because he slowly lifted his hand and pointed in the direction where he had spotted the diner, “Iker. Over there. You see?”

Iker had seen it then, even from a distance. The luminance of the fluorescent lights meekly announcing the presence of the small diner nestled in between the boarder of two English cities. “Ah.. You think it's still open?”

“Of course,” replies Sergio, as he tugged on Iker's hand in a gentle way, “All diners are open until late.”

It had seemed so far away, but in reality, the diner had been relatively close -- whether that's because they had walked quickly, or because Sergio had been pulling him along, Iker would never truly know.

At midnight, the diner was practically vacant, not many customers occupying the small diner space. Iker saw a young waitress scrubbing a table, an enervated frailness in her posture; she looked tired, maybe she had worked a full shift. He had seen an old man cautiously sipping on his cup of coffee in the corner, his head bowed low. There was a middle-age couple sitting in a booth, strained expressions on their faces, but joy in their eyes; the woman's hand was squeezing her partner's, as they exchanged tender words to each other under their breaths. Additionally, the cook was in the back, and a cashier sitting at the cashier booth with a bored expression.

“Table for two?” asks the lone waitress, as she grabs two menus, even without waiting for a response from Sergio or Iker.

The two men nodded anyway, watching as the waitress offered them a weary smile, and showed them to their table.

She left them alone -- not before offering them two cups of coffee, of course -- to decide on what they wanted. “What do you want?” whispers Iker to Sergio, who in reply, shakes his head.

“You know.. I just want coffee, actually.”

“Nene.. You made us walk all this way for a cup of coffee?”

“No... I made us walk all this way so I can spend some time with you. I miss you, we didn't get to talk much on this trip, with the game and all.” mutters Sergio, as he slowly traces figure eights into the calloused skin on Iker's right palm.

“Oh, nene,” Iker smiles weakly, “I'm sorry.. I didn't know you wanted to talk.”

“Well, now you know.” chuckles Sergio, his bright smile showcasing the playful exuberance that is, and forever will be, Sergio Ramos.

The waitress had hustled back to their table, carrying a small pot of coffee in one hand, and two mugs in the other. She placed one mug in front of Iker, and the other in front of Sergio. She wordlessly poured them cups of coffee, only stoping the flow of the coffee when asked to stop.

“Would you two like anything else? Maybe something to eat?” Her voice was soft, and showed slight signs of an American accent. Dark circles encircled her eyes, but the smile stayed.

“No.. We're okay for now, thank you.” Iker responds on behalf of both of them, and she nodded, and left Iker and Sergio alone.

Iker plucked a few bags of sugar from the container in the corner, giving three to Sergio, and two for himself. They both ripped the bags open, pouring the sugar into the coffee, “Coffee at midnight. This is something we haven't done yet.”

“Well, we might have to make this a daily thing, don't you think, Sese?”

“Hmm.. Yes.” grins Sergio, as his eyes slowly wander to the window, watching as a few cars passed by the diner slowly. At times like this, streets weren't very busy, and you were lucky if you even saw a car this late at night. It was quiet; and all the two heard was the drumming of Iker's fingers against the table.

Sergio breaks the silence, eventually, with a question that makes Iker question everything; makes him question everything he's ever wanted, anything that he ever hoped to accomplish in life. “Iker? If I asked you what you wanted to do later in life, what would you say?”

It was quiet, and Iker's thoughts slowed for a minute, as he considered. His heart skipped a beat, two, three, before he answered. His answer was short, and simple, and Iker knew that it was the only response that he wanted to say, “Spend the rest of my life with you.”

There, of course, would have been the ideal moment to say 'I love you' to the man he loved most in his life; but the words didn't come this time. He'd tell him eventually, Iker stalled, he'll know.

**_v._ **

Iker, out of everyone, would always be the first to admit that he didn't have the best of memory. As the captain of two teams, Iker would also admit that his job would be most likely be way easier if he actually remembered things his players had told him.

It wasn't that he didn't care, it was just that his memory faded at times. Iker realized that he _should've_ remembered when Cristiano had asked Iker to bring a spare bottle of water of him to practice, or when Marcelo had asked him to watch Enzo -- in defense, Marcelo had never called to confirm.

...Or maybe he did.

Iker couldn't remember.

But nine times out of ten, it was not Iker who remembered, it was actually Sergio. It had always been left up to the Sevillian to remember important dates -- not that Sergio minded, of course.

Sergio remembered most things in the relationships, leaving Iker to remember the smaller things, such as which cereal brand the two preferred -- _Bolas de Chocolate_ , of course, since Iker was a chocolate fiend, and Sergio went along with it -- and when they had to go to practice.

But, Iker did remember some things, aside from the common tasks that Sergio assigned him.

Like, when the two had gone shopping a couple of weeks back, Iker remembered the name of the store they had passed by.

Coincidentally, he also remembered the look of wonder and admiration when Sergio had seen a particularly shiny chain in the display window. Sergio had vowed to buy the necklace, but it wasn't the right time or place; they had a meeting with the Real Madrid board, and they didn't -- or couldn't, as a matter of fact -- be even a minute late or they'd be scrutinized for days to come.

But, Iker had vowed -- maybe _vow_ was too big of a word; promised fitted better -- to himself to come back and buy the chain for Sergio.

Not for a special milestone in their relationship or a birthday, just as a ' _I appreciate you_ ' gift. And Iker remembered.

He had went back to the store one day when Cristiano and Sergio had made plans with Chicha and James to go to a sauna -- Iker had been invited of course, but he passed on the opportunity. Iker had went straight the store with his credit card in hand, and bought that beautiful silver chain for Sergio; and _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , Iker had bought a few sweaters for himself.

A goalie and captain had to indulge _sometimes_ , right?

And two weeks after Iker had bought the necklace, he still hadn't given it to Sergio. The chain had stayed in its sleek black box, tucked away under piles of scarves in Iker's -- and Sergio's -- drawer.

But one day, before practice, Iker decided to just give it to Sergio, because honestly, why the hell not? “Here,” said Iker, as he shyly held the box out to Sergio, who stared at the Spaniard with wide-eyes curious eyes, “I uh.. Bought it for you. I knew you wanted it, so..”

Sergio cautiously took the box from Iker's hands, opening it slowly, even though he already knew what it was.

The smile that appeared on Sergio's face was unforgettable, and Iker wouldn't have traded those few minutes of happiness for the world. “Iker! You're amazing,” Sergio wrapped Iker into a big bear hug, practically squeezing the life out of the goalie, “I'm going to wear it.. Right now!”

Sergio hesitantly let go of Iker, holding out the chain out to him, signaling for the goalie to put the chain onto the defender. With a smitten smile, Iker nodded, and placed the chain onto Sergio's neck.

“You really think you should be wearing this to training, Sese?” asked Iker, returning to his practical yet lovable self, as Sergio turned to face him.

“Well, probably not..” Sergio grinned, as he sneakily placed a small kiss to Iker's jaw, “But, I'm dating the captain, so you'd get me out of trouble.”

“Hmm.. You have a good point there, Sese.”

“I know,” agreed Sergio happily, as he picked up their joint training bag -- yes, they shared a training bag -- and swung it over his shoulder, “I'm not taking it off.”

And Iker ended up being very surprised, because Sergio stayed true to his word, and he actually did not even hesitate to take it off. He'd been ridiculed throughout practice -- in a joking way, but ridiculed nonetheless -- and Marcelo even tried to take the chain off Sergio's neck.

Sometime during practice, Cristiano had walked over to Iker, standing beside the goalkeeper in silence. “You bought it.”

Iker glanced towards Cristiano, raising his eyebrow in curiosity, then looking away, “Bought what?”

“Sergio's chain. You bought it for him, right? Everyone's asking him about it, but he won't tell who got it for him.”

Cristiano was a very wise man when he wanted to be, Iker had unfortunately realized in that one moment, “And why do you think I bought it, Cris? It could be anyone.”

“Because, you two are dating.” Cristiano stared simply, not even hesitating to filter his words. Cristiano was confident in his words, because he knew for a fact that he was right; and he was.

It took all of Iker's strength to not let his jaw drop to the floor in shock. Iker and Sergio had managed to keep their relationship under wraps for several months now, not letting any piece of information slip to the media or even their teammates. It wasn't that they were ashamed of their relationship, because of anything, they were immensely proud of his far they'd accomplished as a duo. It's just that it was such a big change in both of their lives; Iker had been in a longstanding relationship with a young and vibrant news reporter, and Sergio had been in an on and off relationship with a girl he met in high school. But suddenly, they both dropped everything to be with each other? It was practically unheard of. It was a big transition, and two just weren't ready; hell, they were still adjusting to the change themselves!

“Cris.. That's.. That's not true.” Iker stuttered, avoiding the Portuguese's intense gaze. But Iker was a saint, and coincidentally, he was also a terrible liar, and was unable to be untruthful.

“Iker, you're lying, I can tell,” Cristiano grinned cockily, “Also, I saw you and Sese making out in my supply closet at my last party. It's so obvious to me, but nobody else suspects, so you're fine for now.”

“I... Okay..” Iker looked at Sergio from across the pitch, admiring how the bright light reflected the chain hanging on his neck.

The silver chain stood out against Sergio's tanned skin beautifully, and Iker realized that he was so lucky to have Sergio; Sergio who put up with his cleanliness, and his never ending need for chocolate, and stood by him no matter what. Sergio could've _easily_ told the team who gave him the chain, and why he wouldn't take it off.

But he _didn't_ , and he stayed quiet; which was odd for Sergio, since he was such a bubbly person. It showed how much Sergio cared. “I think it's cute,” commented Cristiano, breaking Iker out of his reverie, “You guys were always the unstoppable duo. You're good for each other. You balance each other out.”

“You're right..” sighed Iker, “I love him, Cris.”

“Have you told him that yet?”

“Well.. No..?”

And what Iker didn't expect from Cristiano in that moment was a hard, crisp smack to the shoulder. Iker shot Cristiano a look of confusion, rubbing his bare arm soothingly, “What was that for?”

“Tell him you love him, damn it! You're never going to know his much he means to you until he has one foot out the door,” The Portuguese and the Spaniard looked over at Sergio, who was joking with Marcelo, “Sergio is the type of guy who needs security. He needs to know he's wanted. And if he doesn't feel it, he leaves. He'll leave even you, Iker. You have to tell him. Don't let him slip away. I'll kick your pretty little ass.”

“I won't, Cris... I won't.” Iker whispered his promise, knowing that yes, it's time to tell Sergio; they'd been together for four months now, but of course knew each other for way longer than that. And if God let things go his way, he'd want to stay with Sergio, and nobody else but Sergio.

_**vi.**_

**_He_** hadn’t even remembered how the fight had actually started. All Iker could remember was the escalation from a measly disagreement, to screaming and fighting, and way too much crying from what Iker had been accustomed to.

 

Iker slides onto the living room floor, as he pulls his knees up to his chest, curling himself up into a ball. He heard the slam of the bedroom door, shuddering at the noise. Sergio had fled up there in sheer distress, not knowing where else to go; Iker knew that when Sergio was mad, there was no way to get through to him.

Sergio’s anger is expressed through short tantrums, usually involving the Sevillian to cry or scream — or in most cases, both — in frustration. Usually, the frustration was caused by someone else other than Iker, and he took full responsibility to calm Sergio from his fits of agitation. This time, however, Iker had played the lead role as instigator.

They’d been lying down on the couch, Iker had remembered, watching a Spanish novella that Isco — yes, Isco — had gotten them both hooked on. It had gone to commercial, and Iker had turned the volume, because he needed to tell Sergio something important. Something he’d been holding off on telling Sergio for a while now.

“Cris knows..” Iker had whispered quietly, as he kept his eyes on Sese, watching the reaction of the fellow Spaniard. He reacted differently than Iker had initially expected; the defender shrugged off the piece of information that Iker had just told him, as if he didn’t care.

“And? It’s just Cris. He won’t do anything.”

“Sergio,” Iker had sounded genuinely upset with Sergio, but in reality he really wasn’t, “If Cris figured it out, how many others have? What if a lot of people know? Do you not care?”

Sergio had sat up, then, shaking his head from side to side, “No, I don’t, and I’ll tell you why,” Sergio pauses, maybe for dramatic effect, or maybe he was simply recollecting his words, “Because I don’t care if people find out. I don’t care if the whole damn world finds out that we’re together. Is the thought of people knowing about us that upsetting to you? Do I shame you?”

“No! That’s not it… I just — Sese,” Iker sighs, as his thumb and index finger pinches the bridge of his nose, as the goalie suddenly felt a headache coming on, “I’m not ashamed of us.. Why would you think that?”

“Iker.. We’ve been together for four months now, and you don’t want anyone to know. Hell, you’re freaking out over one of our best friends knowing! And.. And, you haven’t even told me you loved me! I’ve told you countless times, and you’ve brushed it to the side, never saying it back.”

And at this point in time, Iker’s lips part, but no words had decided to come out — what does he say at a time like this? Surely, he couldn’t tell Sergio he loved him at this moment now, because then it’d seem forced, and it’d only cause more problems. Iker had awakened Sergio’s temper, but that hadn’t been his intention — Iker screwed up, and he solemnly acknowledged that.

Sergio stands up, “Well? Is that all? Are you just going to be quiet?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sese!” shouts Iker, as he throws his hands up in the air in frustration, "What is it that I'm supposed to say right now? I love you? Is that it? I'm confused!"

Sergio's lips quivered, and the Sevillian bowed his head, as he waves his hand dismissively, "Honestly, Iker, fuck this," Sergio sighs tiredly, "Yes, that's exactly what you were supposed to say, you idiot! But you were supposed to mean it, Iker. I've been standing by your side for how many years now? And now, when we're together as a couple, you can't even tell me your true feelings for me? I'm really... Disappointed." Tears rolled down Sergio's face, and he turned away from Iker.

"No, Sergio, please, don't be so dramatic --" _Fuck, that wasn't the right response_ , "I mean -- Sese, please don't be upset with me, because I really do love you, I just.. I didn't know if I was ready to tell you or not.."

Sergio only looks back at Iker when he's at the top of the staircase, a darkened look on his face, "Well, four months should've been more than enough time." 

Que the dramatic exit, as Sergio stomped his way into their bedroom, slamming the door angrily. Iker was left alone, the living room now still and quiet without the laughter and chatter of the two Spaniard lovers. This, is when Iker realized that what Cristiano had told him was right; Sergio needed love, he needed security, and he needed to know that he was wanted. Definitely Sergio knew that he had confidentiality and security in Iker, no doubt about that. But, Sergio needed love; he  _knew_ he was loved by Iker, but he needed it to be vocalized. 

Iker could absolutely admit it now; he screwed up, big time. 

Sergio hadn't come out of the room until about thirty minutes later, a small duffel bag swinging over his shoulder. The slam of the door closing, and Sergio's footsteps had broken Iker's train of thought, and the goalkeeper had scrambled up from the floor where be had been sitting for the past thirty minutes or so.

“Sergio?” 

“Who else?” replies Sergio, his tone full of sarcasm. Sergio's beautiful tan skin was stained tears, and his lips that were usually curled into a smile were set straight into a firm line. 

“Sese... Why do you have a bag with you?” asked Iker, his voice low. 

“I'm going to stay at Cris' for the night.” Sergio says, avoiding Iker's gaze. 

”Why.. You're not.. You're not staying with me here?” 

“I.. No. I can't. Sorry, Iker.” Sergio walked towards the door, giving Iker a small yet awkward smile. He opens the door, stepping out into the chill Spain breeze. 

Iker walks — no, _runs_ — over to Sergio, grabbing the defender's hand, “Sese.. Please.” 

“Iker..” 

“No, please just -- listen, just listen to me, okay?” 

Sergio sighs a little then, then grabs his hand from Iker's loose grip, but he doesn't leave. Iker lets out a sigh of relief, his posture straightening as he begins to speak. “Sese.. You are my best friend, you know that? Before you came to Real, I didn't really have a friend that I was really close to. I mean, I had friends, but not someone who I could confide in. But, then you came along, and you just made everything better. I had someone who I could eat lunch with, and call at 4 am when I needed to talk. I never had that before, and I.. I couldn't think of my life without you, you know? And then.. You kissed me after we qualified for the World Cup, and I just knew that I didn't love you as just a friend anymore..” Iker places his face into his hands, rubbing the palms of his hands against his face in frustration, “I love you. Sergio Ramos, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I thought that telling you I loved you would freak you out.. I didn't know that not telling you how much you meant to me would almost lose you. Sese, Nene, please -- don't leave me.” Iker didn't plead much; after all, he was the captain of two teams. Usually, he enforced rules. He had the final say. 

Sergio grabbed Iker's waist, and pulled him into a hug, “I love you,” He whispered into Iker's neck, “I'm never going to leave you. Ever. We're a team.” 

And that was the moment where Iker and Sergio's life became one; a team, a duo.


End file.
